


What Makes Us Children

by rubysreign



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, Drabble, Gen, Panic Attacks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-03
Updated: 2014-11-03
Packaged: 2018-02-23 22:26:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 903
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2557928
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rubysreign/pseuds/rubysreign
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sobbing is so human. It makes us children. It shows our weaknesses and our vulnerabilities. It cannot be stopped once it has started. And no matter how high anyone builds their walls, or how thick they make their mask, sobs always escape. And it always hurts.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What Makes Us Children

**Author's Note:**

> [zuzi](http://buckysparks.tumblr.com) requested a drabble: Stiles has flashbacks about allison's death, after meeting chris argent chris realizes stiles blames himself, and they have a talk about it.
> 
> this isn't exactly what she requested but it's pretty close???

_This is your fault._

_I thought we had each other’s backs, Stiles._

_What happened?_

_Why didn’t you stop it?_

His bed. Stiles had to get to his bed.

 

Ever since his mother died Stiles’ bed has always been a sort of haven for him. So he launches himself from his chair in his room to his bed. It makes Stiles feel like a kid again. It comforts him, being wrapped up in a duvet, when he feels helpless and small.

 

_You were supposed to help me._

 

But now he feels like the covers are suffocating him, and the mattress isn’t soft anymore. It feels cold and hard, like tile on a hospital floor.

 

“I’m sorry,” Stiles whispers as tremors rattle his body until he slips to the floor, Allison’s voice in his head getting louder.

 

_No you’re not._

_You did it.s_

_I was all he had left, you know._

_My father has nothing now._

His breathe catches. Her dad. Stiles hasn’t even gone to see him yet, it’s already been more than a month since Allison–

 

Stiles gets up, still shaking but he’s controlling his breathing. He grabs his car keys and walks out the door, the sun blinding him with her accusing glare.

 

He keeps his head down as he walks slightly unsteadily towards his Jeep. When it takes him more than three tries to fit the key in the ignition, Stiles stops. He can’t drive like this; he needs to calm down.

 

Inhale. One.

Exhale. Two.

Inhale. Three.

Exhale. Four….

 

Stiles get to 48 until finally Allison’s voice stops screaming in his head and stops making his whole body shake. He’s left with an eerie, empty static filling his ears. But his fingers are moving the way he wants them to and his breathing isn’t so inconsistent.

 

Stiles twists the ignition, and turns the radio on high volume. Hoping Allison’s voice won’t be able to pierce through.

 

Stiles doesn’t remember the drive. All the streets and houses he passed blurred together, until he reached Alliso– Mr. Argent’s house. Then everything came into focus.

 

He was at the door, knocking. And Stiles is shaking again.

 

_Why are you here?_

_My father doesn’t want to see you._

_You killed his only daughter._

“I’m sorry,” Stiles’ eyes are squeezed shut and he can’t do this. He can hear anything except screaming and screeching, and he can see stars bursting into bloody shards behind his eyes.

 

Then there’s pressure on his shoulders and he’s being carefully guided forward. His feet move, but his muscles aren’t responding well enough so he’s tripping and stumbling until he’s being seated.

 

The pressure moves to his chest and he’s breathing.

 

Inhale. One.

Exhale. Two.

Inhale. Three.

Exhale. Four….

 

This time it takes him until 13 counts for him to open his eyes. There are tears streaming down his cheeks and his mouth is moving, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,”. His voice is hardly a whisper and it cracks every two or three syllables.

 

“Stiles, what’s wrong? Are you okay?” Mr. Argent sounds worried.

 

Stiles shouldn’t have come here. “I’m sorry.” This time it’s louder, but it’s just as broken and pathetic.

 

There’s a pause, then Mr. Argent answers, “What? Why are you sorry?” Now confusion has seeped into his facial expression, but concern is still etched into his brow and the line of his mouth.

 

“It was my fault. I should have been there for her,” Stiles is curled in on himself and he shouldn’t be here, “I– I did that to her, it was me. It’s my fault.”

 

“No,” His face shows worry and now also resolution, “That was not your fault. You were not the nogitsune and you couldn’t have done anything to save her. No one could’ve.”

 

“But I let the nogitsune in my head. I let it hurt my friends; kill my friends. It killed people, and that’s on me,” Stiles’ voice is unsteady and wavering, his fingers are starting to twitch again.

 

“That’s not true.”

 

“Her and I were the only humans in the pack, we were supposed to be there for each other and I couldn’t–” Stiles’ lets out a sob, and then his body is trembling and he can’t stop.

 

Stiles can’t feel or hear anything. He feels like a small child again, weeping and crying. His thick mask of sarcasm and jokes is now fallen to the floor as Mr. Argent holds him as he breaks down.

 

“I’m so sorry,”

 

“It’s not your fault,”

 

“I’m so–“

 

“It is not your fault.”

 

 

 

Slowly, the tears stop flowing and Stiles stops shaking. Until he’s only sitting there, body tense and throat raw.

 

“It is not your fault Stiles.” Mr. Argent looks pained and Stiles can see his eyes are bloodshot, “Come on, you can crash here for a bit.”

 

Then Stiles is being guided, this time towards a room with a bed. Panic wells up in his chest again, but he’s too tired and his eyes are half closed.

 

Stiles doesn’t breathe as Mr. Argent helps him into the bed. He can feel the freezing covers and the rigid mattress. Mr. Argent is out of the room now and the lights are off.

 

Inhale. One.

Exhale. Two.

Inhale. Three.

Exhale. Four….

 

It only takes him one more inhale until the panic starts to subside. The duvet is warm and the mattress is soft.

 

He can still hear Allison’s voice.

 

_It’s okay._

 


End file.
